Friday, October 23, 2009
My determination to post again is proving hard to sustain. I was going to discuss Galen Strawson's views on death, but, immediately, two things went wrong. First, I realised the essay was philosophy for the sake of it, a terrible thing. I remember Galen at Cambridge. He had immensely long and thick blond hair. I wonder if this affected his subsequent intellectual development. The second thing that went wrong was that Blogger told me I was suffering from an error called bX-9d2teg, which I then learned doesn't exist. It was my very own error. I ground to a halt. But then I realised I have long nurtured strong feelings about pheasants. I was at a grand London club last night and I made the mistake I usually make at such places. I ordered the pheasant. It always feels like the right thing to do. The bird was, as usual, disgusting. Pheasants are not made to be eaten. In fact, the only reason they are eaten is that treating them as food justifies shooting them. People shoot them because they are big, dim-witted and slow-moving birds. I don't believe anybody not actually blind or paralytically drunk has ever fired at a pheasant and missed. Were it not that they are so common, we would appreciate their exotic beauty and the gentle comedy of their desperately slow and wildly-flapping take-off. Pheasant shooters would then be seen for the cads they are.
Posted by Bryan Appleyard at 7:51 am